


Where Do I Go Now?

by ForestSeaWitch



Series: The Bard and the Elf [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal, Comfort, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fist Fight, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Healing, Heartache, IT WAS A BATH, Jaskier cries, Jaskier grows a beard, Jaskier packs heat, Light Bondage, M/M, Physical Healing, and yet...here we are, argument, chi couldn't heal the beta, recovering from heartache, stabbystab, tender moments, two bros sitting in a hot tub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22880869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestSeaWitch/pseuds/ForestSeaWitch
Summary: Jaskier thought his relationship with Geralt was progressing well, until the fateful day of dragon-saving on the mountain. After a downward spiral, Jaskier has given up hope, and needs help getting over his heartbreak.
Relationships: Chireadan & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Bard and the Elf [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642075
Comments: 37
Kudos: 132
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. You Need a Nap

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take **you** off my hands._ The words twisted in Jaskier’s gut like a dull blade, and he still did not know how he held his tears until he was far out of sight. He never did get the story from the dwarves, instead rushing to pack his things and flee the mountain. It had been one thing, to see Geralt and Yennefer reunite like that, but another thing entirely for the witcher to cast him down so carelessly. The past couple years had meant nothing? Jaskier meant…nothing. And he would continue to mean nothing to Geralt, even though they had been closer than ever, up until that point. _If life could give me one blessing…_ Jaskier had taken to drinking heavily in attempt to drown out the words. It never worked, but he’d be damned if he didn’t keep trying.

Sitting in yet another pub, his lute untouched in its case, Jaskier was on his…fourth? Fifth? Drink. He had tweaked the love ballad he had been writing, making it instead into one of heartache and despair. Jaskier couldn’t sing more than a verse before breaking down, and the songs had stopped. He still received requests for the tales of The White Wolf, and he had tried. Gods, did he try. Jaskier had set his lute down and not picked it up except to move it from one spot to another in nearly a fortnight. Every time he tried to compose some ditty of happiness, it turned sour and angry. Those damned witchers, forgetting that just because _they_ claimed no emotions, it didn’t mean those around them felt the same.

A chair scraped to his left, and someone sat with him. Jaskier didn’t look at them, instead turning his head away with a frown. **”I’m here to drink alone,”** his voice broke. Tears stung his eyes, rolling down his cheek. That had been the first thing Geralt ever said to him. Everything would remind him of the witcher, for the rest of his days, and Jaskier fucking knew it. That hurt worse than anything.

 **”I could tell. But…perhaps I could still drink with you?”** The familiar, melodic voice caught him off guard, and Jaskier turned to Chireadan, staring at him. The elf had somehow found him, again, and Jaskier looked down, ashamed. He leaned into his hands, trying to hold in his sobs, but they wracked his body. Chireadan gently rubbed his back, saying some sort of soothing thing that did very little for the bard. 

**”When was the last time you bathed?”** he gently asked. Jaskier sniffed, wiping his eyes and nose. He honestly could not remember, and though he tried to answer, all that came out of him were pathetic whimpers. **”You need healing. I can only do so much, but I…I am here to do what I can. Come.”** Chireadan picked up Jaskier’s lute and carefully slid the strap over his shoulder, and then helped the bard from his seat. Jaskier let him, though he really wasn’t paying much attention to anything as he stumbled through the inn, up the stairs, into…wait, where were they? His mind was a cloudy mess, and Jaskier was slowly realizing that he’d forgotten to eat, as well. 

Chireadan sat him on a bed, and Jaskier had to grip it, to keep the world from throwing him down from the seat. **”I…I feel terribly. Chir…Chireadan you don’t…you shouldn’t have to-”**

 **”Shh. I will, regardless. Arms.”** The elf coaxed his hands above his head, and eased the shirt off Jaskier’s body. His nose wrinkled, but he continued to undress the bard. **”It’s been longer than I expected, yes?”** The bath, Jaskier supposed he meant. He shrugged in response, staring blankly at the floor. His eyes were red and wet, and his face was puffy. He remembered taking care of Geralt like this, washing him and sharing a bath with him. Jaskier’s face twisted in pain and he began to cry again, feeling free to do so, with Chireadan’s attention. 

**”He…h-he yelled at m-me and…a-and he…he doesn’t…want…”** Jaskier could hardly breathe, clutching at his chest like it would help anything. Chireadan stopped undressing him, and knelt down before the bard, looking at him with so much empathy and kindness in his eyes. It hurt Jaskier, to be looked at like this. Chireadan put a hand over Jaskier’s heart, and cupped his cheek with the other, wiping away the fat tears that rolled down it. The bard leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and trying to will away the hurt in his chest. But he could only feel Geralt’s hand, though it had never been as gentle as _this_.

 **”I t-tried to follow you. When we…we saw you. That day…”** He was hiccupping and trying his best not to lose composure. The elf shook his head, putting two fingers to Jaskier’s lips. 

**”It’s painful,”** Chireadan sounded understanding, and stood again, pulling Jaskier up with him. **”You showed me what I needed, to relieve heartache. I’m going to help you find what helps you.”** Jaskier fell into him, and remembered that elves are surprisingly strong, for how lithe they also are. Chireadan helped him to the other room, and Jaskier wondered how the steaming bath had gotten in there. It felt freshly hot, like it had just been drawn moments ago.

 **”Here…first one foot. Good. Now the other. Good.”** Chireadan eased him down into the bath, and Jaskier just sat. Pathetically. He finally took note of what the elf wore; a dark emerald fabric, embroidered with silver accents of flowers and swirls. Jaskier reached for him, running his fingertips over the designs. When he withdrew his hand, Chireadan pulled off the shirt, rolling up the sleeves of his smallclothes. He knelt by the bath, dipping in a sponge and gently scrubbing Jaskier’s shoulders and armpits. 

**”But the story is this,”** Jaskier mumbled the tune, tipping his head back when Chireadan urged it, pouring water over his hair and slicking it back. **”I don’t know if I want to be alone, or if I can’t be,”** he confessed to the elf with an embarrassed look. A peculiar look passed over the healer’s face, and he dropped the sponge, standing. Jaskier reached to grab him and beg him to stay, apologize for his drunken words, but was stopped when he saw the elf undressing, swiftly and silently.

The bath was not large, nor was it exactly tiny. Chireadan easily slipped into the water behind Jaskier, pulling him close and resting the bard’s head against his shoulder. **”She has damaged us both,”** Jaskier mumbled, receiving a soft kiss to his temple. The water was so warm and calming, and it smelled of lavender. Chireadan stroked his hair and whispered soft things to him, in the common and elvish tongues. Jaskier could feel himself drifting off to sleep, and sought the hand around his waist, holding onto it tightly.

 _Geralt…_ his mind whispered, and Jaskier thanked the gods he hadn’t said it out loud. Jaskier didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep, but awoke with a start some time later, back in bed. 

**”I am here,”** Chireadan quickly assured him, sliding closer to him. **”It is alright. You say many things in your sleep.”** He sounded…troubled? Jaskier wondered what he might have been saying, confessing to, or if perhaps he was just narrating the dreams that plagued him. 

**”My fucking head,”** Jaskier moaned, rubbing his forehead.

 **”Yes, you had been drinking…a lot. I suspected you might be unwell…drink this.”** Chireadan leaned over to present a vial of purpleish liquid. Jaskier didn’t question it, pulling the cork out with his teeth and swallowing the contents in a large gulp. Cold relief washed over him, and the pounding in his temples eased themselves back down into nothing. Jaskier sighed in relief, turning onto his back. It was dark out, he noted. The bard turned towards Chireadan, sliding his hand over his naked torso. Oh, yes, they were both nude, weren’t they? A quick lifting of the blanket confirmed that, and the elf swatted it back down with a laugh.

 **”Now is not the time for that,”** he chided, though it was playful and endearing. Jaskier wouldn’t admit that he was right, other than to pull Chireadan closer, feeling his warmth and the smoothness of his skin. Jaskier kissed him, and then just held him close for the longest time. He had never been a fan of silence, but something about this one just sat perfectly in the air. 

**”I cried in my sleep,”** Jaskier stated, he did not ask. Chiraedan nodded, and stroked his back. When was the last time he’d been comforted like this? When he’d been comforted at all, in fact? He did not exactly fall into a sleep, but rather into some sort of meditative trance, where the two held each other until the sun rose. Jaskier did not know what the day, or even the week, might bring, but perhaps it might be a little easier with someone at his side, with whom he might share it.


	2. This Decisive Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chireadan and Jaskier have been traveling together for weeks, and finally the bard puts his own healing abilities into practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I could find of available Elder Speech was rough and incomplete, so I've jostled it around a bit and added in similar dialects where it felt right. Translations at the end!

Chireadan had been taking care of Jaskier for nearly a month, making sure he ate and took care of himself. The bard had begun to smile again, and even sing his happier songs. In fact, he had begun to write again. One song about the elf, even, and how he was an expert, master healer. The first time they’d made love, Jaskier had cried, and felt pathetic for it, mostly because he had been thinking of Geralt. Chireadan had been so understanding and sweet with him, and held him after. The next time, Jaskier made up for it with zeal and great vigor, leaving the elf breathless and very pleasantly surprised. 

It was a bit of a struggle, to relearn how to travel like a bard, and _not_ like a witcher. He’d been with Geralt for so long that he had forgotten that he didn’t have to do his duty and then move on immediately. The pair could stay in a village or town for weeks, if they wanted. But it seemed they both had a desire to move on, and the famed Jaskier could get them fine rooms for quite cheap, just by promising a song to the innkeep. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if Chireadan truly did like moving as much as they did, or if he did so because Jaskier would grow restless after a while, unable to settle. Whatever the case, the bard was grateful to have him as his companion and lover.

Jaskier had happened upon a glass blower, who was peddling a particularly lovely set of crystal vials, and immediately thought of the healer. He was always running out of things to put his potions and ointments in, and Jaskier thought he deserved something a little nicer, perhaps. They may not have been the _most_ practical thing, but they were beautiful, and they made him think of the elf. That was all that mattered, wasn’t it? 

There was a slight bounce in Jaskier’s step, and he carried the set of vials, in a customized wooden case that now featured Chireadan’s name on it. Ensuring the woodmaker spelled it correctly had been difficult, but Jaskier always thought that details were important. The bard was whistling as he passed the alley behind the inn. The sound of struggling and curses echoed out, and Jaskier couldn’t help his curious nature. He stepped back to look down, and felt his stomach drop. 

The bard set the gift on a barrel as he ran down the alley, shouting. **”Oi! Hey! Leave him alone! Get…fucking _get off_ him you bastards!”** He punched the first man he reached, hard, and was rewarded with hands grabbing the back of his shirt. **”Ohhhh you will unhand me immediately!”** His face was wild with fury, and once he was thrown away, the three attackers stood between him and Chireadan, glowering.

 **”Mate, it’s a fookin’ elf. Sod off.”** Jaskier looked down to Chireadan, who was bleeding and battered, and slowly trying to back away from the men without drawing their attention. Seeing him scared and beaten like that was drawing out a fearsome expression, and making Jaskier’s fists clench tight. **”Yeah, go sing your fucking songs and fuck another bird in there why don’tcha. Leave us the elf.”** Chireadan could not even speak, his jaw clenching as he shook his head, silently begging Jaskier to leave.

 **”He’s _my_ elf you fucking cunts!”** He launched himself at the men, screaming and throwing punches and scratches, and fishing out the Nilfgaardian stiletto that he kept stashed in the waistband of his trousers. The bard slashed and kicked and even _bit_ one of the men. Jaskier had drawn blood, and he had received a few punches himself, to his gut and face. 

**”Fucking _guards_ ,”** one of them men shouted, and the three disbanded quickly. A handful of knights rushed down the alley past them, chasing the men. Perhaps they were bandits, or perhaps they were known troublemakers in this village. Either way, Jaskier was finished, collapsing onto his ass, breathless. He moved to Chireadan, who was touching his own lip, wincing. 

**”Chi…here, let me see.”** Jaskier sheathed the stiletto, shuffling over to the elf on his knees.

 **”Jaskier, you shouldn’t have…I did not realize you carried that with you daily.”** Jaskier gently wiped the blood from Chireadan’s face, being as tender as possible in assessing his injuries. **”You are frightening, when you are angry.”** The elf’s voice was soft, as though he hoped not to anger the bard further. Jaskier had never had to fight like this before, not so aggressively. Yes, he had gotten into a minor scrape here and there, but it had always been the witcher who fought for him. When faced with the possibility of losing Chireadan, or allowing him to lay here and be beaten within an inch of his life…he could not take that chance.

 **”Aé esse zabiję,”** Jaskier snarled, taking a shuddered breath as he kissed Chireadan’s forehead. **”Cáemm,”** he grunted, slipping his arm under the elf’s shoulders, helping lift him to his feet. 

**”I did not know you spoke the Elder Tongue,”** Chireadan leaned into him, and Jaskier could feel how labored his breathing was. Oh he wished he had sunk the dagger straight into one of their eyes. He grit his teeth and walked the elf towards the main road, slowly.

 **”I studied it in Oxenfurt,”** his face was still heated; both from the fight and from anger. 

**”But you are not fluent.”** Jaskier rose an eyebrow at Chireadan, who smiled weakly at him. He jested, but only slightly. Still, that was a good thing. Was he accustomed to humans beating him, simply for being an elf? That angered him again, and he _was_ going to kill those men, when he found them again.

He looked around for the barrel, and his package, and whined in despair when he saw it lying on the ground a foot ahead. **”No! Chi…I had…it was worth losing, I suppose.”** If that was the price to ensure his lover’s safety, then of course he would choose Chireadan over some pretty crystal any day. 

**”What is it?”** Jaskier shook his head, propping the elf up against the wall so he could pick it up. He gently shifted it back and forth, hearing a bit of broken glass inside. He grunted, rubbing the back of his head with a frown. 

**”No matter. I’ll show you later. After we get you cleaned up…”** Minor bumps and scrapes were of little consequence to him anymore, though helping to heal a witcher was far different from healing an elf. He was so tender and gentle, and Jaskier hated the thought of anyone seeking to hurt him. The bard would have carried Chireadan, were he confident in his strength to do so, but alas, no. **”I’m so sorry. I ought to have been here, I…what happened?”** Chireadan was silent.

It was good fortune that they were near enough to the inn’s entrance, and found a very helpful wench to aid him in bringing Chireadan up to their room. **”I require a hot bath immediately, with plenty of rose water and lavender, and…and all the salt you might have!”** Jaskier made his healer lie in bed, and set himself to the task of remembering which occupied vial contained which salve to best repair his injuries. 

**”I can do that,”** he heard the elf attempting to sit up.

 **”You may think so, but I am not going to allow it. You have been through enough, and I’m not going to let you worry yourself worse.”** Jaskier brought four bottles that seemed to be the correct ones, and at least let Chireadan point to which ones worked best. It seemed the elf was amused, watching Jaskier pour this salve on a rag, or tap that one onto a cut. 

**”Don’t laugh,”** Jaskier thumbed Chireadan’s ear tip, one of his affectionate gestures. His jaw tightened again, and he busied himself with gently unlacing the elf’s shirt, easing it open. **”Please tell me what happened?”** At least now he was speaking more softly, and his face was back to its usual peaceful, youthful appearance. 

**”It’s my fault-”** Chireadan began, but Jaskier quickly interjected.

 **”It is _not_.”** He was firm in that.

The elf nodded, wincing when the bard felt his ribcage. Oh gods, he didn’t know how to help heal _that_. Jaskier did what he could, biting his lip as he slowly realized that he was absolutely useless in this. **”I had a meal, here. Just a light one-”** elves didn’t seem to eat much after all, **”And then went for a walk. The men saw me when I was admiring flowers by the roadside, and began to harass me. They yelled at me for being an elf in their town, for daring to show my ears.”** Chireadan was clearly upset, but Jaskier felt like he was closer to tears than the elf was. 

**”I thought I left them behind, but they do know this village far better. And caught me by surprise. They were beating on me when you found me.”** Jaskier was going to kill them. He had meant it. The bard heard servants in the next room, preparing a bath for them. Good, at least a warm bath would help something. But he had no training in magic, nor advanced healing. Whatever he could do, though, Jaskier absolutely would do his best at. 

**”I forget that so many are so…hateful. It’s not fair. You’ve never hurt a soul and…you certainly don’t deserve this.”** There had been a time when the bard was ignorant to the plight of elves, but he’d never chased them down and beat upon them for sport! That was beyond cruel. Sociopathic, is what it was. And even worse, Chireadan was a healer. The elf was gesturing, and Jaskier followed the point of his finger, seeing that he indicated the ruined gift.

 **”Ah. Yes, well…I had bought you a gift. I’m afraid those ruffians must have smashed it, but…well let’s have a look, eh?”** He fetched the box, carefully unwrapping it. Chireadan was beaming as the ornately decorated wood was revealed, and then gasped when he saw his name carved upon it. **”There are vials inside that are meant to…well. Oh!”** Jaskier opened it, pleasantly surprised. **”Well only one is smashed. Don’t suppose you’ll get much use out of that one now. But these…I saw them and thought of you.”**

Jaskier gently pulled one from its compartment, handing it to Chireadan. The elf was smiling as he turned it in his hand, and only now did Jaskier see the rainbows that danced inside, lit by candlelight. **”This is not glass,”** the elf handed it back, and gripped Jaskier’s hand in his, somehow still holding that sweet smile on his face. **”It is glass _obsidian_. Rare, and holds dangerous potions very well.”**

 **”Ah, right, yes. I knew that.”** Chireadan’s smile told him it was alright to not have known anyway. Jaskier leaned in to share a tender kiss, running his hand up Chireadan’s chest. The elf whimpered, and he immediately pulled back, cringing. **”Sorry, sorry. We’ll have to find you a proper healer after you’ve rested a bit. Yeah? Let’s…oh I think they’re done in there.”**

Getting Chireadan into the bath had been tricky, and getting him out afterwards even worse. The in between bits were fine enough, and Jaskier had found that he’d missed taking care of someone like this. Apparently they both liked to tend to those closest to them. Jaskier would have to convince Chireadan to allow him to do this sort of thing much more often. The elf was in no condition to be moving much at all, and told Jaskier that he suspected his ribs might be broken, if not at least fractured. He explained how to bind his chest, to keep his pain minimal for now, until the bard could fetch a healer. 

**”You should let me tend your injuries,”** Chireadan was lying in bed again, naked from the waist up, apart from the binding of course, and running his fingers over the bard’s arm. 

**”Absolutely out of the question,”** Jaskier was denying him for a third time, **”I’ll wear the bruises with pride. You won’t put a healing hand upon me until you’ve done your own healing, Chi, I will not have you making yourself worse for my sake.”** Compared to the elf, his injuries were hardly anything. He’d had worse from Geralt…Jaskier winced, thinking of the witcher like that again. It had only been this past month that Chireadan had tended his heart, making him feel loved and wanted, and above all _needed_. It was unfair to keep thinking of a man who had shown exactly how much he wanted Jaskier in his life, when this one was right here.

 **”They could have killed you,”** Chireadan was still trying to convince Jaskier that he shouldn’t have stepped in.

 **”They _almost_ killed _you_. And likely would have. You think I would just let someone _do_ that to you?”** Jaskier set the box to a side, and began to dress himself. He noted the confused and slightly worried look on the healer’s face, which made him laugh softly, kneeling by the bed.

Jaskier took his hand, kissing Chireadan’s knuckles, and then his palm, then his wrist. **”I’m not going after them, Chi. I’m going to find a healer. So you just rest, yeah? Get some sleep. I’m going to take care of you.”** He kissed the elf again, and Chireadan gently held onto the front of his shirt, urging him to stay. **”I promise I won’t be long, Chi. You’re safe here.”**

He slipped some gold to the innkeep, to ensure some extra muscle kept a close guard on their room. Cowards wouldn’t dare approach when people were expecting them, after all. And despite Jaskier’s desire, he would keep his promise and _not_ pursue the men who had beat on him. At least not today, not while he was searching for a healer.  


* * *

  
It was another three weeks they stayed in the town, while Chireadan recovered. His injuries had not been as serious as Jaskier feared, thankfully. The bard still had to be gentle with him, especially with hugs and sleep. They had spent sunny days sitting in the grass by a pond, enjoying the cool breeze and feeding fruits and drink to one another. One of Chireadan’s assaulters had been hung the day previously, for having raped a girl, and Jaskier attended. The healer had refused to go, but Jaskier wanted to watch him die, to make sure he was well and truly dead. He would never tell Chireadan, but a satisfied sneer had graced his lips when the man spotted him in the crowd. Jaskier was sure the scoundrel recognized him, but he supposed there was no way to know for sure. But one was dead, and that was a very good thing.

 **”Do you think we might settle somewhere?”** the elf asked, looking up from where his head laid in Jaskier’s lap. The bard stroked through his hair, and gave his ear tip a playful pinch. 

**”Hmm perhaps. Not here, though. Can’t say I really care for this village. What if we-”** _went to the coast_? he nearly asked. Jaskier felt his breath catch in his throat, and he looked away, as though something had suddenly caught his attention. **”There are towns not far from the Bleobheris, I hear. Lots of tourism, many travelers who might wish for a song or be in need of healing? We could settle near enough to there.”**

Chireadan nodded, after a moment of silent consideration. **”It is a sacred place,”** he agreed with a smile. **”And it seems all know of Jaskier the Bard. It should not be difficult for us to find somewhere to call home.”** _Home_. The word rang in Jaskier’s mind, and he could not help but feel warm at the idea of it. Yet he felt nervous at the same time. Those secret, nervous thoughts plagued him, and though he tried his best to ignore them, they always cropped up at the worst of times. It had barely been three months since Geralt got rid of him, but sometimes it still hurt. It hurt a damn lot, in fact. 

**”Bleobheris, then,”** Jaskier finally said with a nod. **”Shall we make our journey tomorrow, then? You’re fine to ride a horse?”** He slid his hand over Chireadan’s ribs, giving them a gentle feel. The elf’s hand slid over his, reassuringly.

 **”They are tender, but healed. For the most part. And I have potions to drink that will ease my discomfort.”** Jaskier laid back to nap under the warm sun, satisfied with Chireadan’s answer. There was a long and bright future ahead for them both, he was sure of it. It was finally time to let the past remain in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aé esse zabiję - I will make them dead.  
> Cáemm - Come.


	3. In a Hopeless Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Chireadan settle into their new life together; a short series of snapshots.

In a town somewhere between Vizima and the Bleobheris, Jaskier and Chireadan had decided to settle. Well, it was the elf’s idea really. Jaskier had happily gone along with the plan, mostly because he wasn’t sure what to do with his life now. Things were easy with Chireadan. Simple. Static. At times, even boring. Sometimes Jaskier missed the days of monster hunting, until he remembered why that had all stopped in the first place. And so he had taken to performances in town, playing his old songs, and writing new ones along the way. 

The most surprising thing had happened. One of his old professors from Oxenfurt had come through the town, and found him singing in the square. Jaskier was hardly a busker by that point, rather giving performances to the travelers and locals alike, and making quite a fair bit of coin for it. When his professor suggested he try organizing a course for hopeful bards, to teach them prose and lyricism. **”Even though that pompous Valdo Marx says I’m barely fit to play for lesser nobles?”** Jaskier had brattily responded. 

Apparently yes, as he then found himself instantly swamped with students. Many of whom had been sent there specifically by his old professor. After two months, Jaskier had fallen into a regular schedule of performance and lecture, sometimes finding that he could easily blend the two of them. Chireadan had become the town’s most proficient healer in that time. Between the pair of them, the local economy had become bolstered. And for a time, Jaskier supposed he could live with that. After all, it had brought him fame and recognition beyond what he had earned, traveling with that damned witcher. 

Often, though, Jaskier found himself wondering if Geralt thought of him as often as he did. Given their last interaction, he somewhat doubted it. There came a time where the bard didn’t think of Geralt for weeks at a time. But there was always something to trigger a memory, or to remind him of that pain from the last day he’d seen the witcher. It was not fair to Chireadan, and it wasn’t fair to himself, either. There had been once when a witcher had come through town, and it made Jaskier’s heart skip a beat. At least until he saw the man. Handsome and tall, but then he supposed all witchers were. He wore a medallion similar to Geralt, but it had not been him. And Jaskier found himself needlessly apologizing to his elf, who had been nothing but understanding.  


  


* * *

  


  
**”Chireadan…I need you to fuck me.”** Jaskier was laid beneath the elf, who was thrusting between his legs. Chireadan stopped, and with a look of confusion felt the bard’s forehead. Jaskier batted the hand away, finding he was slightly annoyed that Chireadan didn’t respond to it. 

**”Jaskier, I am inside you already. Are you ill?”**

Jaskier sighed, and pulled Chireadan’s hips harder to him, with crossed ankles. **”No. I…I need you to _fuck_ me. Harder. Rougher. Please.”** Chireadan kissed him, and gods if he didn’t at least try. He did all he could to try and please Jaskier, really. **”Chi…”** Jaskier whined, trying to thrust harder against the elf. He grabbed one of Chireadan’s hands and put it to his throat.

The elf pulled it away, looking somewhat disturbed. His thrusting stopped, and he pulled out to lay beside Jaskier, looking down at the bard. Chireadan struggled to find words for a few long moments, leaving the bard to wonder if he had gone too far. **”Jaskier…I won’t hurt you. I don’t want to.”**

For whatever reason, that angered him. **”But I’m asking you to, Chi. I _want_ you to! Surely you’ve…there’s never been a time you were so annoyed that you wanted to just…I don’t know, slap me? Anything?”** Chireadan tried to appease him with a kiss, but Jaskier pushed him off, sitting up and glaring down at him. He was trying to understand why he suddenly felt so angry, but found his mind coming up empty.

**”Jaskier. Perhaps we should stop tonight. I’ll make us a-”**

**”No!”** Jaskier pinned Chireadan to the bed by his shoulders, mounting him. The elf was clearly surprised, and still did nothing against Jaskier. It wasn’t often the bard saw the slight flash of fear in his eyes, though now he understood why such a thing could be arousing. **”Chi…if you won’t, then…then let me. Alright?”** For a moment, the healer was silent, looking somewhat frightened. But then he nodded, and with a quick feel, Jaskier found that his arousal had not been affected in the slightest. Well…it was something, he supposed.

When Jaskier fucked himself on Chireadan, it was truly a _fucking_. They had made love many a time, but the bard needed more. And tonight he took it, impaling himself roughly on the elf, and moaning like a wanton whore. Chireadan seemed to enjoy himself, even grabbing at Jaskier’s cock to pull him to his end. It was unnecessary, as the bard was hitting the perfect spot inside himself to bring orgasm quickly. 

**”Jaskier…my love, I’m…”** The bard leaned down to drown out the warning with a passionate kiss, fucking Chireadan through both of their climaxes at once. The feeling of being filled, of knowing he had done that to the elf, it had been enough to bring about his end as well. They were both breathless and sweaty by the end of it all, and it was with great reluctance that Jaskier finally pulled off the elf, flopping onto the bed beside him. 

He was nearly asleep, with an ass still full of seed, when Chireadan turned to him, rubbing a soothing palm down his shoulder and arm. **”That is what you would like, more often?”** the melodic voice asked. Gods, he was so understanding and patient with Jaskier. The bard forced his eyes open, sleepily looking up into Chireadan’s deep, green eyes. He nodded softly, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

 **”Then I will do my best to give you this. Jaskier…”** Chireadan seemed as though he might leave bed, perhaps to clean himself, or to clean them both, but then thought better of it. Instead, he slid back into place, holding the bard close. **”I love you.”**

Jaskier felt a swelling of emotion in his stomach, and he wasn’t quite sure what it meant. **”And I love you,”** he honestly answered, kissing Chireadan. His dreams that night made even less sense than the feeling had.  


  


* * *

  


  
**”En’leass,”** Chireadan said the word slowly. 

**”Enlass.”** In the past few months, Jaskier had been refining his Elder Speech with Chireadan, who had been more than happy to teach him. The elf was giggling at him now, as he wrapped lace ribbons around Jaskier’s wrists.

**”You almost have it. Human tongues are not inherently built for this language.”**

**”But they’re inherently built for other things,”** the bard slyly responded.

**”Jaskier!”**

Chireadan was blushing, as he always did whenever Jaskier made a dirty joke. Even though they were alone, and literally in the process of developing new ways to enrich their sex life, the elf would always be somewhat bashful. It was endearing, really. 

**”Once more,”** he was failing at biting back a smile. Chireadan leaned in, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s ear. Little things like that sent shivers down the bard’s spine. **” _En’leass_ ,”** the elf breathed softly, and gods if that didn’t stiffen Jaskier’s cock instantly. 

Jaskier’s mouth was hanging slightly open as Chireadan pulled away. **”En’leass,”** he repeated, reaching for the elf’s trousers. The bard was somewhat surprised when his hands were stopped, a firm pressure binding them together.

 **”Ah…you did well. But look…now _you_ are tied by it.”** The lace Chireadan had been using to demonstrate the word was now tied in intricate knots about Jaskier’s wrists, with a long lead. 

**”So I am,”** the bard felt his heart skip a beat when Chireadan led him to their bed, tying the lace’s end to the headboard. **”And what are you intending to do with your student now, sir elf?”**

Chireadan kissed him sweetly and unlaced his trousers. His methods were slow and tantalizing, and Jaskier was realizing just how securely he had really tied that lace. He was stiff as weather-beaten rock.

 **”Now I intend to show you what an elf’s tongue is for.”** There he went, blushing at his own innuendo. Chireadan quickly found a way to silence himself and make Jaskier sing.  


  


* * *

  


  
Three months later, Jaskier was trimming his grown-out beard in the mirror with a small pair of shears. His students had told him it made him look _distinguished_ , although he really kept it because Chireadan enjoyed grooming and oiling it. He’d never realized how he enjoyed the feeling of fingers in a beard until he had grown one out himself. Tending it was like a freshly lit lamp, and the elf was as a moth. Jaskier saw him in the mirror before he felt the arms around his waist.

 **”Well good morning Chi,”** he smiled. The elf rested his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder, smiling back at him in the mirror. He was fairly certain Chireadan couldn’t grow a beard to save his life, but that hardly mattered. The healer wouldn’t look right with one anyway. He was pure and sweet, and that impossibly youthful face of his was perfect as it was.

 **”I would have done that for you, if you had woken me,”** he planted a kiss on Jaskier’s neck that left goosebumps behind.

 **”But you are such a vision in your sleep. Had I not busied myself, you would have been ravished, and then what state would my beard be in?”** They shared a laugh, and then a short kiss, which threatened to turn into a longer one. 

**”Right, you, get dressed,”** Jaskier playfully slapped Chireadan’s ass, making the elf jump. **”You’ve asked, so…today you’re coming with me to lecture. Unless some knight needs you for healing, I suppose.”** Bringing his man along would enlighten some of his students as to the nature of his newest songs, and he had an urge to know how the elf’s voice sounded when he tried to match it to melodies. Jaskier thought it would be fun, and the pair could wander for lunch. There were a few especially lovely fields he had yet to claim as theirs, through sordid acts of passion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The adventures of Jaskier and Chireadan will continue, just not in this chapter series! It's coming though :)


End file.
